As If It Was the Last

by skygirl55

A perilous situation sparks feelings for Sister Bernadette & Dr. Turner. AU. Companion to Whenever You're Ready

2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Patrick Turner ran. Branches hit him in the face and arms, rocks and roots threatened to trip him, and brush tugged at the legs of his trousers, but he did not stop. He ran until his lungs burned and then continued on until his vision began to tunnel. Only then did he slow his pace to a jog and then a brisk walk as his chest heaved with exertion. Thankfully, the shots fired in their wake had now silenced, but he was still terrified to halt their forward progress.

As his leg muscles began to burn from the lactic acid building up inside of them, he shuffled a few steps forward and glanced behind him to ensure his companion was keeping up. He'd checked on her every few hundred meters to be certain the blur of white fabric was still in his wake, and it had been every time. He was genuinely impressed with how well she kept up with his pace, especially considering her habit would have caught on to the underbrush far more easily than his trousers.

His breathing now beginning to regulate, he glanced down at his watch, trying his best to assess how long they'd been running. He wasn't sure the exact time they started, but he guessed their sprint had lasted three or four minutes at least. They'd made considerable progress, but he did not feel they had traveled enough, particularly not if their would-be assassins were intent on finishing the job.

When he came upon a tree with considerable girth, he beckoned for her to follow and slipped behind it. He pressed his back against the trunk and shut his eyes briefly as he listened to the rustling of the brush as she approached. When he sensed her presence beside him, he glanced up towards the sky as a way of confirming that the tree cover had begun to thin. He'd suspected as much since he'd been feeling the rain a bit more steadily on his head, but he could now clearly see bits of sky in among the leaves in the tree canopy.

Lowering his chin towards his chest, he glanced over to her to see that she was looking rather more water-logged than he felt. Then again, he supposed her habit was not as designed for poor weather as his uniform. The veil on her head was completely soaked through and matted down against her hair, which he knew was not good for her health, especially as the temperature would drop as the day wore on. They would need to find shelter as soon as possible, which he imagined might be a challenging task in the Italian countryside—even if they were supposed to be in an area controlled by the Allies.

"I don't think…they're coming…after us," she said a bit breathlessly.

He nodded absently, peeking over her head to gaze at the forest behind them, half expecting to see the muzzle of a weapon poking out from behind a cluster of trees, but of course there was nothing there. "Let's press on, just in case," he said quietly.

Sensing she might be feeling weary, and still feeling his muscles trembling, Patrick did not run, but his pace was not a lazy one. He led the way over fallen branches and brush for another ten minutes until he heard, "Patrick, wait. My shoe."

He turned back to see the sister bent over and reaching towards the ground, where her shoe had apparently become stuck in a thick patch of mud. He walked back over to her by which time she'd extricated the shoe, and then held onto her elbow to balance her while she slipped the mud-caked object back on. Standing that close to her he could see that the entirety of the back of her habit was soaked through from the rain. Concerned about her catching a chill, he decided they had stumbled through the woods quite enough and it was time for the next stage in their plan.

"We should try and find a road to walk along. Then perhaps we'll be able to find some shelter."

She nodded though appeared hesitant. "Do you think those men are still lurking on the main road?"

He gave a non-committal shrug. "I hope that they have sheltered from the rain or perhaps sought medical care for the executioner who was clearly injured by that falling tree. We can't know for certain, but what we do know is if that you and I do not get out of this rain we will soon be doing very poorly."

"It doesn't seem to be letting up, does it?"

"Not particularly. At least it's not—oh." He'd been about to express gratitude for the lack of continued lightning but just then a crack of thunder could be heard overhead. This was the encouragement he needed to hasten his walk and thankfully within just a few more minutes a clearing in the trees could be seen and a road was within view.

Walking along the road was easier since there were fewer tripping hazards, but it made Patrick's chest tight. He felt he needed to be continually on edge, monitoring for any sounds other than the crunching of their shoes against the pavement for fear that they would cross paths with those evil men once again. Surely, they would not be as lucky a second time.

Ten minutes later, after rounding a bend in the road, a house came into view. As they slowly neared it, Patrick debated their options. They could take a gamble, knock on the door, and request shelter. That would be quite a risk seeing as he was dressed as a British soldier, and they had no way of knowing how friendly or unfriendly the residents were. They could pass by the house, hoping that it was seated on the outskirts of a village where there might be some sort of pub that would be more welcoming. Or, better yet, have a phone they could use. Of course, there was no guarantee that a village existed, and he wasn't sure how much longer they could walk through the rain.

After walking another few minutes, a better view of the house was possible. While from the direction they approached it looked pristine, the view from close up was rather different. It seemed that the barn seated at the rear of the home had been damaged from a bomb since a good two-thirds of it was toppled or crumbling. The side of the house closest to the barn had also received damage, whether from another shell or simply due to shrapnel from the felled barn, it was unclear. Upon seeing the state of the buildings, Patrick's mind immediately asked two questions: was the house still structurally sound and did it have any occupants?

He'd begun to walk towards the house rather than follow the road, which had the sister asking, "What are you doing?"

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. "I'm trying to see if we can use this house as shelter. It looks like the damage might be limited to that back corner, but I need to be closer to know for sure."

"What if someone lives there?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

He walked over the grass, approaching the house from the front until cutting over to the side with the damage. The roof was certainly caved in at the corner, which at that point was letting a steady stream of rain into the house. Given that he saw no canvas or tarps covering the hole, he could not imagine anyone presently living in the home, but unfortunately there was only one way to know for sure.

He circled the house as the sister trailed just a few steps behind him. He peered in through one of the windows, but it was nearly impossible to see inside, particularly with the rain still falling around them. Returning to the front of the house, he carefully tried the doorknob, and, to his surprise, it twisted easily and he pushed open the door.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" he called out. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing, so he stepped inside.

Thanks to the lack of sunshine, the interior of the home was exceptionally dark, and he briefly wished for one of the torches they'd had in the back of the transport truck. Seeing as that was not an option, he did his best with the limited amount of light coming through the windows. The interior of the house had a musty smell that told him immediately that no one lived there anymore. Considering that was the first good news he'd experienced in the prior hour, he smiled slightly to himself; perhaps their nightmare was finally drawing to a close.

"Do you think it's safe, Patrick?"

He hummed as he looked up to the ceiling and then spun around on the spot, observing what he could despite the lack of light. "Well, I imagine it's been…oh, at least four months since there would have been any bombs falling in this area. If the house's structure withstood that amount of time, it certainly won't fall on our heads in the next few hours."

For his own piece of mind, he carefully made his way towards the rear of the home where part of the roof was missing. That area appeared to have been one where the family gathered, as there were overturned chairs and a bench, all now saturated with water. The kitchen was just in front of that space with a large table in the center and counter on which there rested a coffee mug.

Continuing his exploration, he walked towards the opposite end of the house where he discovered a bedroom with two small bed frames inside, a bath, and finally the large main bedroom. Luckily, that room not only appeared to be in the best condition of all the rooms, but it also had a fireplace.

"Ahh well here's a spot of luck," he said pleasantly. He walked immediately over to the fireplace and found there was a small pile of wood almost as though the house had been waiting for them to arrive. He saw the matches atop the fireplace mantle right away and set to work making a fire that would both warm them and dry their saturated clothing.

As he crouched down to gather up the logs and bits of newspaper to be used as kindling, Patrick could feel the dampness of his jacket heavy against his shoulders. He shivered a bit from the chill of it and could only imagine how the sister was feeling. He wondered then if the family had left behind any clothing when they vacated their home. Surely, they would not have a nun's habit, but he hoped she would not be too discerning when it came to keeping herself from getting sick.

Thunder rumbled overhead just as he was able to get the fire glowing to life. The crackling of the logs soon became the predominant sound in the room, and he took a moment to hold his hands out, trying to dry out his waterlogged skin before he moved on to his next task of getting out of his wettest outer layers of clothing.

After a minute, he stood, turning away from the fire in the process, about to make a quip about them feeling warmer soon when his voice became caught in his throat at the sight of her. Sister Bernadette stood in front of the dresser in the room where there was a small mirror. She had removed her head coverings and was now finger combing her wet hair as it fell against her shoulders. Patrick felt his face flush, for he had not intended to witness something so intimate. Clearing his throat, he lowered his gaze, and said, "Perhaps this family left some spare clothing behind. Or at least some towels so we can try to dry off."

She turned around and nodded appreciatively. "What a good idea; I'll check the bath."

When she slipped out of the room, Patrick pushed out a slow breath between his pursed lips. He'd been so focused on getting them out of the rain that he failed to think about what might happen once they actually found refuge. Specifically, how long they might need to shelter together. Of course, they had spent much time together without others around them. Nightly, in fact, when they had their evening chats on the balcony, but this felt…different, if for no other reason than they were about to become significantly less clothed—for their own health and safety, that was. Not for any other reasons, because of course he'd never think about those! He'd try not to, anyway.

Unbuttoning his uniform top with one hand as he went, Patrick walked over to the dresser and began to open the drawers. Disappointingly, each of them was empty. There was a wardrobe on the other side of the bed, but opening it revealed nothing but a folded knit blanket. He frowned, thinking that the blanket was better than nothing when it came to keeping warm, but it certainly was far from ideal.

"I found something."

He turned around, tossed the blanket on the end of the bed, and saw her approaching with a piece of cloth in her outstretched hand. Taking it, he found that it was barely larger than his hand, and certainly not enough to get them thoroughly dry, but again, it was better than nothing. "No, I'm fine; you keep it."

She shook her head and refused to take it back. "No, your head is far wetter than mine. You use it."

He thanked her before plopping the cloth on his head and rubbing it around to dry his hair and scalp the best he could. With his hair as dry as it was going to get, he continued his task of removing his uniform top. He shrugged it off his shoulders and moved to hang it on the post at the foot of the bed when he heard her gasp.

"What's that?"

"Hmm?"

"The back of your arm is bleeding. Your vest is soaked in blood."

"What?" he asked, craning his neck to see if he could catch a glance at the back of his arms. He felt no pain or discomfort and couldn't imagine how his vest could be soaked with blood without him realizing.

"Here, let me see it."

He kept his back to her and felt her touch the back of his right arm as she rolled up the sleeve. Only then did he feel the bite of pain across the center of the back of his arm. He winced as she continued to examine it. "Where is your…" she muttered to herself and he watched as she moved over to his unform and pulled out the appropriate sleeve. When she poked her finger through the hole in it, she turned back to him with her expression grave. "I think you were grazed by a bullet."

"What? No, certainly not." His response was immediate. He would have noticed if he'd been shot—he was sure of that! "It must have been…a sharp tree branch."

She eyed him skeptically. "Sharp enough to tear your uniform?"

"We were running quite recklessly through the woods."

"Yes, but this is the back of your arm, not the front."

He pressed his lips together and considered. She made a valid point, and his idea would have made more sense if the front of his arm was injured, though he was not convinced the tree branch theory was completely implausible. Determined to get a better look at the mark, he backed his way towards the dresser and tried to see his arms reflection in the mirror, but the angle was wrong, and he could not get a good enough look at it.

"I'm going to see if there's anything to clean the wound."

He grunted with acknowledgement, still trying to see the spot. He managed to get a rather awkward glimpse of it, but as it still wept blood, it was impossible to get a good impression of the size and shape of the cut. Given this, he had no choice but to accept Sister Bernadette's conclusion. She, too, had treated bullet wounds during her time at the hospital, so there was no reason to think her assessment was inaccurate other than his own disbelief. Disbelief and fear, for if the bullet had hit him just a few centimeters to the left…

"I found iodine," she announced when she returned to the bedroom, "and something to use as a bandage, but I'm going to need a moment. My habit is just so weighted down with water that I can barely move."

She placed the iodine bottle on the dresser beside her veil and moved her hands to the back of her neck so she could unbutton her collar. Patrick immediately turned away from her, feeling his cheeks flush once more. In that position, his gaze landed on the fire, and an idea popped into his mind. Since the house contained no spare clothing, they needed a plan to ensure their clothing dried as quickly as possible. "I…I think I'm going to get one of those chairs from the kitchen. If we drape our clothes over the chair and put it in front of the fire, they'll dry more quickly."

"Oh yes; good thought!"

Glad to have something to do that limited the chances of him accidentally seeing her undressing, he slipped out of the room and hurried across the house to the large table in the kitchen. He grabbed one chair at first, but then thought it would make more sense to use two—one for each set of clothing. With two chairs, he had to walk a bit more awkwardly down the hall, but he managed it. Unfortunately, by the time he returned to the bedroom he was so focused on keeping the chair legs from beating him on the ankles that he forgot about Sister Bernadette's state of undress. As a result, he caught full sight of her when he pushed open the bedroom door.

With her collar and habit removed, the sister was left in only a sleeveless white cotton sheath which, while dryer than her habit, still had not escaped the deluge of rain. The damp fabric clung to her, revealing the outline of her breasts in a way that made him gasp, "Oh!" She turned to him, curious, and he was able to quickly recover with, "Oh—ah—I brought two chairs; one for each of us."

"Thank you."

He averted his eyes to the ground until he could slip past her and focus on the fire. The space was tight, but he managed to set up the chairs far enough away from the flames that their clothing did not risk being burned. He draped his uniform top over the back of one of the chairs and then stepped aside so she could do the same with her habit.

"Sit on the bed so I can clean your arm," she told him, and he did so, turning so that his right arm was outward and his body was rotated towards the center of the bed. In this position, he let out another slow breath, glad he would not accidentally catch sight of her in that position, but worried about how the next few hours would progress.

A minute later, he felt the gentle touch of her fingers against his arm as she began to clean and dress his wound. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on something other than the discomfort. His mind settled on memories of her—and all the other times she'd treated him with tenderness.

If, a little more than a year earlier, someone had told Patrick that the mute Italian village girl, who brought him stale bread and a soup that could best be described as water boiled in the general vicinity of a carrot, would soon become his dearest friend, he would have thought them utterly mad. Granted, the road to their friendship became a bit clearer once he realized she hailed from the same island as he did and was only hiding out among the Italians until she could find her way to safety, but still the odds seemed against them. Yet, there they were.

Months earlier, when battle exhaustion had nearly stolen every scrap of sanity from his mind, he'd been relieved beyond measure to run into Sister Bernadette in the laundry of the allied hospital. Since they had been separated during their attempt to flee the Italians, he'd never received official confirmation that she had made it to safety. He was so grateful she had, and, within the next few hours, he was further grateful to know that she was willing to support him through his struggles.

Over the next few months, her kindness and guidance helped him through the worst of his battle exhaustion. While he did not yet feel as though he was back to normal (although, given the stressors of war, he wasn't sure he even knew what "normal" was anymore), he did feel better, and that was all because of her. She had been patient with him, despite his struggles. She'd been kind and warm, as he'd always known her to be. She'd even made him laugh—a truly amazing feat given how heavy his heart had been when he arrived at the hospital.

Though he would have easily identified her as one of his closest friends, his feelings beyond that were complicated at best. There had been more than a few moments on the balcony as of late when he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. He knew it would have been so easy for him to just brush his thumb over the edge of her jaw or to place his hand gently on her arm as they stood side by side. Even though she was a nun and should have eschewed such advances, he suspected she might have been open to them—which led him to his secondary confliction.

Even if Sister Bernadette had been receptive to his romantic notions, he wasn't sure if they were a good idea. His mind still felt clouded with the echoes of bombs and the distant screams of men. His heart felt heavy from the death that haunted him every single day. He wasn't sure he was ready to be in a relationship yet, as a relationship implied thoughts beyond those of war and how could he think about anything after the war when those days seemed years away? He wanted to—he wanted to imagine at time when he was back at home and she was there too—with him—but he wasn't sure his mind was ready for such musings.

"Is that too snug?"

Her voice drew him back to the present and he gazed down at his right arm on which she had tied a bandage. "Er…no. No, it feels just right. Thank you."

She smiled softly. "Of course." She brushed her fingertips down his bicep, causing some tingles at the base of his neck. He expected this action to be the final one of kindness before she stepped away, but it was not. Her fingers lingered at the crook of his elbow for a moment before she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his arm just above the bandage.

He breathed in sharply from the shock of her warm lips against his skin, which still felt cool thanks to the rain. He watched with fascination as she lifted her head and met his gaze. Immediately, his cheeks flushed from the intensity of it. It was as though the heat from the fire was being funneled through her eyes as she looked at him with…desire? But surely not! She couldn't possibly desire him! Not in that way. She cared for him as a friend, of course, but she'd never—they'd never—

Then, suddenly, his ears rang with the words she had spoken barely one hour earlier.

I love him.

Kneeling on the street in the rain, his mind had been too focused on the pistol that was about to be aimed at his head to truly process her words. Reflecting on them, he would have assumed they were fueled by her fear of his imminent death, out of desperation for the Italian men to comply with her pleas to let him live. But now, seeing the way she looked at him, he could not help but wonder if those feelings persisted now that their level of peril had dropped significantly. Was it possible that she had fallen in love with him during those nights they spent together, talking about their lives both during and before the war? Was it possible that he had done the same without ever even realizing?

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to her. He tilted his head towards hers ever so slightly, not really sure what he was about to do, until she met him halfway. Her fingers curled around his forearm and her lips ghosted over his. The touch could hardly be considered a kiss, yet it made his heart clench with wanting. Oh, how he wanted her. Had it really taken her being that close to him for him to realize how much?

Unable to resist the urge, he leaned into her again, parting his lips slightly so they could have a proper kiss. She sighed audibly and gripped his arm a bit more firmly, but after a second, he drew back, uncertain. The rational part of his mind asked whether or not this was the right thing to do. They had just experienced an emotional upheaval and a brush with death. Rational thought had not yet returned to either of them but given that they had just had a very serious brush with death, how could he not kiss her when kissing her was the only thing that made sense in that moment?

He twisted his body towards her, bringing his left arm forward so it could rest against her side. She responded by lifting up her hands and cradling his jaw, drawing him in once more. He shut his eyes, tilted his head, and kissed her without holding back. Electricity shot down his spine and, God, it was incredible. He pulled her closer to him, unable to help himself as he kissed her again and again. He was so focused on his lips against hers that her hands drifting down his neck barely registered. They slipped lower and lower, skimming over his collar bone and his upper chest until they landed flat against his pectorals. When her palms brushed over his nipples, he felt a twinge of desire between his legs that startled him enough for him to pull back with a grunt.

He stared at her wide-eyed for half a second before placing his hands over her wrists and gently pulling her hands away from his body. "Wha—what are you doing?"

"I…I don't know," she confessed. Lightning flashed in the distance, briefly lighting her face from a different angle, which enabled him to see the conflict on her face. "I was thinking about earlier. How we almost died. We almost died today, Patrick."

He could hear the emotion in her voice and his made his heart ache. Yes, he had been the one about to, quite literally, stare down the barrel of a gun, but given how careless those men were when it came to the lives of soldiers, it seemed a logical conclusion that she would have ultimately faced the same fate. Wanting to comfort her the best he could, he brushed his thumbs gently over her wrists and said, "You mustn't think that way."

"But it's true, isn't it? We came about as close to dying as possible while still being able to walk away."

"You can't live your life with those thoughts, or you'll be paralyzed by them. The army teaches-"

"But I am not in the army!" She blasted out, startling him enough that he dropped his grasp on her wrists. She took a half step back, shaking her head as she pushed her arms out to her sides. "I am just a—just a person who has never anticipated coming that close to…to…" Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she shut her eyes, giving her head a little shake. He watched as a tear slipped from her left eye and began to travel down her cheek. He reached out and captured it with his thumb, his heart feeling like it was being split in two.

She opened her eyes, resting her hand over his so she could hold it against her cheek. "God protected us today by sending that lightning bolt and I am grateful for that, but…but as that treetop fell down, I was convinced it was the end—that none of us would survive—and I thought…" She breathed in a sharp breath as more tears began to fall. "I thought if it had to be the end, at least we're together. At least…at least the last face I would ever see would be yours."

An ache pulsed through his chest as her words settled over him. Her sentiments were so sweet and yet in such contrast to his own thoughts at the time. While he had accepted his fate from the moment he'd been forced down onto his knees, he'd never accepted hers. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed before in his life, begging God to give her a way to escape. His own death he could accept and, in a way, had almost anticipated it as his time at the front had rattled his mind almost beyond repair, but hers? Her death he could never accept. Someone as kind, wonderful, and giving as her deserved to live a long and happy life.

Wanting to redirect her away from the heaviness of those thoughts, he reached out, gently gasped her elbows, and said, "But we made it, Sister; we escaped."

She nodded and rubbed away the tracks of her tears with her palm. "Yes, we did. We have a second chance, and I don't want to waste one more second of it by not being honest about what I really want."

The skin on the back of his neck prickled once again as he asked, "And what is that?"

She stepped forward, pressed her hands against his cheeks and lowered her forehead until it rested against his. He shut his eyes and reached out his hands until they settled against her, bracketing her waist. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress and his only thought was to wonder what it would like if he could touch her bare skin. How would she respond to his touch? Would she arch up to meet him? Would she sigh out his name?

Name.

He realized in that moment that he didn't even know her real name. He'd known her by a fake name when they'd first met behind Italian lines and now by the one she'd chosen for her religious identity, but he didn't know her real name and he wanted desperately to know it.

Sliding his hands so that they joined at the center of her back, he asked softly, "Will you tell me your name? Your real name?"

"Shelagh," she whispered to him.

"Shelagh," he echoed, then he smiled at the feel of it on his lips. "What is it that you really want, Shelagh?"

"You," she breathed, her hands sliding down his neck to the base of his skull so she could tilt his lips up to meet hers. "I want you."

When her mouth covered his, Patrick felt as though the embers from the fire had set his skin aflame. He'd never felt such an intense surge of wanting before. The feeling soared through him, settling into every cell in his body like no feeling ever had before. He pulled her body against his lifting her up until her knees rested on the mattress and then he rolled back, pulling her down along with him. She came willingly, their lips never separating for more than half a second as they kissed again and again. He wanted to spend hours kissing her—days, even.

After barely a few minutes of the bliss of holding her in his arms, he began to chastise himself for being such a fool. They could have been kissing on the balcony every night! Well, perhaps not on the balcony as it was in full view of some of the patient's beds, but they could have walked down into the gardens—no one would have seen them then! They could have snuck off to a corner of the property and become lost in each other for an hour. In fact, perhaps that was exactly what they should do once they returned. Ten minutes of chatting about their day and then straight into kissing—what a delight that would be!

Once again, he'd become so distracted by the feeling of her lips on his that Patrick had not quite noticed that her hands had begun another journey. Her right one slid from the back of his neck, over his shoulder, down his chest and passed his belly button before he became acutely aware of it. Even then, he'd been quite stunned by her actions and had not been able to react until the tip of her index finger reached the waistband of his trousers.

His fingers curled around her wrist gently, only as a warning. She pulled her lips from his and lifted her head enough to meet his gaze. Then, without blinking, she slipped two fingers beneath the top edge of his trousers. He let out a rather strangled whimper and flattened his hand over hers to stop her progress, only becoming aware of how much his arousal had grown when her fingers were barely centimeters from it. This was not at all surprising since he had not kissed anyone—let alone anything else—in nearly two years, ever since he'd left British soil to join the war efforts, but something about her actions felt wrong.

Though they had never spoken about it, he felt certain she had never experienced any intimacy before. He had no issue with that. In fact, if given a moment to think about it, he would have found it rather thrilling to be her first; however, the way they were going about it simply wasn't right. They shouldn't rush—especially not after all that had happened that day. She was right in saying they had a second chance—and that was a chance they needed to savor.

"Wait," he sighed, drawing her hand back up and pressing it over his heart. "Before we do anything like that, I believe I…I believe I need to thank you for saving my life yet again."

Though his tone was light and almost sultry, she somehow managed to take offense, and recoiled from him with her eyes downcast. "Oh, you do not have to."

Still not picking up on her discomfort, he husked, "But you've earned it," and leaned in to kiss her again. Before he could, she slipped away and pushed herself off the bed. She flattened her arms across her chest and gave her head a little shake.

"I didn't save you for gratitude. I saved you because God willed it—because he allowed me to. He provided the opportunity for me to help you at all the times that I have. I only did what I thought I should be-because I want to help people. To help you because I—I care for you and I…" She took in a deep breath and gazed at him steadily as she confessed, "I find I much prefer the world with you in it."

Patrick sat up slowly, rendered nearly speechless from her confession. Somehow here, alone in a bedroom lit only by firelight, the words seemed even more intimate than her confessions of love out on the rain-soaked streets. His chest tightened as he looked at her, not even sure if he could form the words he wanted to say. Giving himself an extra moment, he slowly slid off the bed and stood just before her. He waited until she tilted her head up before brushing his thumb against her chin. He gazed down at her, remembering all the days he'd felt as though he'd been simply going through the motions until he'd catch sight of his watch and realize there was only three or four hours until dusk, which meant three or four hours until he'd get to spend time with her. He lived for those moments. It seemed silly how he hadn't realized the significance of those feelings until just then. He'd never felt anything like them before and, gazing down into her ice-blue eyes, he very much doubted he ever would again.

"I prefer my life with you in it as well—and not only because you have developed the habit of saying my life. Though, for that I am grateful. I prefer my life with you in it because I look forward to every interaction with you so that I may see the smile on your face or hear you talk about your day. Because you have become my dearest friend, someone I can't imagine my life without. And…" His heart swelled up so that it nearly covered the opening of his throat. It stuttered in his chest as the words rose up along with it, and came straight from his heart, with his mind hardly having any say at all. "…because I love you, too."

There it was: the admission he'd never said to anyone save his parents. As a headstrong young man focused on his future career, he thought the notion rather silly. Love was for someone sappier and less dedicated than he was. He appreciated women, desired them, and on occasion found them interesting conversationalists, but love was not something he'd felt or even aspired to before. Love was certainly nothing he'd expected to find in the war-torn Italian countryside. Yet, there it was, standing in front of him, and he was all the better for it.

He watched as her brow rose in surprise, but then her face relaxed and the loveliest smile blossomed across her lips. She held his gaze for a moment before dipping it towards their toes as though she was embarrassed. He refused to allow it, though, and tilted her chin up once more. He brushed his thumb against the bottom edge of her lower lip and asked softly, "Will you let me show you how much?"

She nodded for several seconds before breathing out, "Yes."

Grinning, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her towards him, turning her in the process so that her back was to the bed. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he bent his knees and skimmed his hands down her back until he reached her thighs at which point he lifted her up and placed her gently on the bed. He stretched out beside her, reaching one arm across her body so he could balance himself above her. Gazing down at her made his heart stutter once more. She was so lovely and wonderful; he wanted her so much. Though a part of him certainly wanted to ravage her, he tamped it down as best he could, because this moment was not about that; it was about celebrating her by way of giving her pleasure.

He leaned down, tentatively brushing his lips over hers until he felt her arms circle his shoulder. Then he kissed her again, brushing his tongue against her bottom lip. He heard her let out a soft whimper as his hand caressed her sides. Her lips parted and he didn't hesitate to kiss her deeply for the first time. For a brief moment, he feared it was too much, as he felt her hand grip his shoulder rather firmly, but then, after a few seconds, it relaxed, and she tilted her head slightly to sink deeper into his kiss.

As they kissed, Patrick let his hand caress her side, growing steadily bolder as he moved it from her hip up to her ribs and back until, on one journey northward, he allowed his hand to travel high enough to reach her breast. He cradled it gently, reveling in how perfectly it fit into the palm of his hand. He let his thumb brush across it once then again, testing the waters. She didn't squeeze his shoulders at all, so he felt safe to continue the action until he felt her nipple transform into a small pebble beneath the fabric. Only then did her fingers curl into the wings of his shoulders.

He lifted his head to judge her reaction and saw that her eyes were shut and her lips were pressed tightly together. Unsure if her expression signaled discomfort, he asked quietly, "Do you want me to stop?"

Her eyes popped open, and she said, "No! I…I've just never felt anything like that before."

He quirked his lips to the side. "I know." Thinking he might introduce her to some other sensations she might not have felt before, he lowered his chin and placed a kiss against her exposed collar bone. He then kissed the spot just below that and the one below that one, now kissing her overtop the fabric of her underdress. While he kissed her, he skimmed his hand down her body, not stopping at her hip, but continuing down to her thigh, where he began to bunch the fabric of her dress with his fingertips until her skin was exposed to him. He gently touched just above her knee and then slid his hand around to the back of her thigh. She bent her knee, lifting her leg, and giving him access to slide his hand all the way up to the edge of her pants.

At that point, he detoured to move his hand to her belly, thinking he would be able to touch her breasts without the restriction of cloth, when she surprised him by asking, "Shall I take my dress off?"

He met her gaze and said, "If you are comfortable."

She nodded and began to push herself upright. He leaned back, giving her enough space to work the dress up over her head. Knowing how wet the fabric was, he took it from her and turned so he could toss it onto the chair where her habit was drying. When he turned back, she was lying down again, now fully exposed save her pants. Her breasts were, in his opinion, entirely perfect, and he could no longer resist the urge to lavish them with his attention.

After stretching out beside her once more, he used the index finger of his hand to trace the valley of her breastbone for a moment before dragging it over to circle the tip of her left breast. She breathed in sharply, so he repeated the action twice more before leaning down and pressing his lips into the center of her chest. He then began to move towards her left side, placing a trail of kisses in his path until he reached the tip of her breast and closed his lips around it. The soft, "Oh!" that escaped her lips went directly to his groin, so he took in a slow breath through his nose to temper his arousal.

He continued to kiss and caress her breasts until he could feel her growing a bit restless beneath him. Her chest would arch now and then, and he could hear her feet shuffling against the mattress, so he lifted his head to check on her. "Are you all right?"

Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip and she nodded. Reaching up to brush some hair off her forehead she confessed, "I think so. I didn't realize anything could feel like that."

He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to smirk or make a comment about how her pleasure was just beginning, but he didn't want to unsettle her, so he merely kissed her sweetly. While her arms circled his shoulders to pull him in close, he let his right-hand skim down her torso, over her hips and to the juncture of her legs where he, very delicately, slipped two fingers beneath the edge of her pants.

She gasped into his mouth, and he pulled back, nudging her nose with his and promising, "I will stop if you ask."

She managed to just barely shake her head and whisper, "I don't want to stop."

He nodded and pressed his lips to the side of her neck. She brought her hand up to cradle the back of his head which encouraged him to move his fingers through the wetness at her opening. He briefly wondered what it might be like to kiss her there, but almost immediately decided against it, fearing it might be too overwhelming for her. He instead kept his lips on her neck, kissing her gently while he rubbed her for a few moments. Then, feeling a bit frustrated by the awkward angle required to touch her intimately, he kissed his way down her neck, over her collar bone, and down to her mid chest before lifting himself up and using both hands at the waistband of her pants. He gave them a little tug and she instinctually raised up her hips so he could slide the item off and toss it to the ground.

With her now fully exposed, he stretched out on the bed beside her, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration until he found the spot that made her mouth open into an O-shape. He rubbed her gently but at a consistent pace until he watched her eyes shut and heard her breathing grow a bit more ragged. Her hands, which had been resting lightly on his shoulders, found their way to the back of his neck, almost as though she was trying to hold him closer. In response, he leaned down and kissed her breasts once more as her legs fell open a bit further and she pressed herself into his hand. He smiled to himself, feeling a thrill of exhilaration course through him at the pleasure he knew he was providing her. He breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of her skin, and knowing he would do this for her every day if she allowed it.

For another minute he continued his motions until she suddenly gasped and felt her body tremble as she rode a wave of pleasure. He felt his body flush from the sheer delight of bringing her to her first climax. He didn't dare move until he felt her fingers, which were pressed tightly into his scalp, relax slightly. Only then did he brush his lips against her chest and neck as he traveled up her body so he could nuzzle his nose against hers. She let out a soft whimpering sound and her hands drifted down his spine towards the middle of his back.

Patrick moved his hand so it skimmed up her side and he could lay half on top of her, almost as though he was giving her a hug. His chest pressed against hers and he could practically feel the hammering of her heart. Their bellies pressed together with each of her uneven breaths, and he brushed his lips across her cheekbone to let her know he was there for her and would hold her as long as she needed him to.

Another minute passed before she turned her head towards him, and he lifted his enough so he could view her face. The sated expression on it made him want to laugh or burst out into song—he truly wasn't sure which. He slid his arm up her back to cup her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth before asking, "All right?"

She nodded twice but then started to shake her head, which had his brow knitting with concern until she began to nod again and finally breathed out, "I don't know…ask me in a few hours. Or days."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her response. He recalled being similarly speechless after his first experience—and that hadn't even included the emotional upheaval they had been through that afternoon! Of course, in his case, that experience had been coupled with the rush of redressing before his companion's father returned home. He'd needed to scale the back garden fence to escape, which wasn't exactly a moment he was proud of in retrospect. Thankfully for Shelagh, the afterglow of her first time could be a more peaceful and relaxed event.

Patrick settled down against her once more, draping one arm over her ribs, just under her breasts and resting his nose just beside her ear as he held her close. Her fingers curled around his arm, and they lay that way for several minutes until he heard her say softly, "Patrick? Are we going to continue the intercourse?"

He almost laughed at the bluntness of her question, but instead managed to answer honestly, "I didn't want to rush you—or pressure you if you don't want to continue." As far as he was concerned, he'd completed his purpose of thanking her for once again saving his life—and for being her wonderful self. Though of course he ached to love her in every way, he was aware of her religious convictions seeing as she typically wore them on her head. While he was certain what they did broke her vows in some way, they had not technically committed the act generally reserved for married couples and he would never pressure her to do so, particularly if the gravity of it all had begun to weigh on her conscience.

"I want to," she told him softly. His heart rate beginning to pick up again, he lifted his head to assess her expression and she nodded, repeating, "I want to."

Taking in a slow breath, he pushed himself up and hovered over her to kiss her sweetly. Her hands landed on his sides, caressing his ribs for several moments before they drifted down to the waistband of his trousers. She traced the edge of them with her fingers until her hands came together at the button, which she undid.

He slid away from her so he could remove his still-wet trousers and toss them on the chair with his uniform jacket. Then he removed his pants and left them on the floor near hers before turning back to the bed. There was no hiding his arousal at that point, but she didn't seem unsettled by the sight of him. If anything, the way she scooted towards the center of the bed to make room for him made her seem eager.

He climbed up beside her, kissing her once more as he brushed his right hand down over her breast, across her belly, and between her legs. He pressed her thighs open gently and moved so he lap atop her, his weight balance between his forearms and knees. Only then did nervousness flit across her expression. He tried to calm her with his lips against her cheek, then over her nose and down towards the other cheek as he slowly tilted his hips towards hers, but the moment the tip of him brushed against her she gasped and drew herself away.

He winced, hating her to have any amount of fear in that moment. "We don't have to," he reminded her, but she shook her head, determined.

"I just felt a little nervous."

"What would make you feel less nervous?"

Lightning lit up the sky outside and flashed through the windows. She lifted her head and kissed him, her fingers pressing gently against the side of his jaw. Thunder rumbled in the distance as her fingers drifted down his throat before slipping beneath his arms and coming together at his spine. She held them there for a moment before pulling him downward. Taking that as a sign, he reached between them with his left hand and guided himself into her. Her grip on him tightened as the tip of him entered her channel. Though she was wet from climax, he still felt her barrier. He hated to cause her pain but knew there was no other way, so he eased forward until her body gave way for him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when he heard her whimper. He stopped his progress and held still for several seconds before sliding forward and letting his hips slot against hers. "Does it hurt?"

"No," she whispered back.

As carefully as he could he began to move his hips. Her hands gripped his back firmly at first, but then they began to relax, and she brought them up to rest against the wings of his shoulder blades. Taking this as a positive sign, he dropped his head so his chin rested against her shoulder and his hips settled into a steadier pace. As he let go of the worry that he was hurting her, he settled into his own pleasure and focused on just how incredible she felt; like she had been made just for him. Soon he felt the tightness building at the base of his spine and his hips jerked forward a bit more sporadically until he felt his climax roll through him. He groaned, his arms shaking from the exertion of keeping himself above her. He allowed himself three more breaths before, with great effort, pushing himself off to the side so he could collapse without crushing her.

The crackling fire lit the room well enough for him to see she gazed at him with adoration. He smiled and brushed his fingers into her hair until he could cradle the back of her head. He drew her close enough to kiss her gently and then settled his head against the pillow beside her so he could gaze into her eyes. When she reached over to brush her thumb against the hollow of his cheek, his heart swelled inside his chest once again. Oh, how he loved her. As he had never loved anyone this way, the intensity of connecting with her so intimately dwarfed him. He felt overwhelmed by the way the moment encapsulated him in the loveliest way. If it was possible, he would have wanted to live the rest of his life in that exact moment and bathe in the perfection of it for eternity.

They lay together for the better part of ten minutes, just holding on to each other. Patrick's eyes had just begun to drift shut when a crashing sound on the other side of the house spiked his heart rate. He vaulted from the bed, stumbling forward in his haste to move towards the open bedroom door. Weapon—you need a weapon, his mind coached. His gaze darted around the room before it landed on one of the metal fire pokers. He snatched it up, brandishing it like a bat, as he crept towards the door, straining his ears to listen for the sound of footsteps.

When he could hear nothing over the crackles of the fire, he dashed into the hall. His eyes took an upsettingly long time to adjust to the dark, but he did not see any large, looming shadows in the kitchen area, which was promising. He held his breath and listened hard for a few seconds and then, thinking he heard a clinking sound by the sink, took three great strides forward. He scanned the area but could see nothing obvious that caused the sound. He took another step and that was when he heard the squeak—and the skittering of tiny feet against the wooden floor.

Patrick groaned and suppressed a shiver; he hated rats.

For his peace of mind, he did a quick sweep of the rest of the house, but found nothing to cause more alarm, so he lowered the fire poker and returned to the bedroom. Shelagh now sat on the edge of the bed wearing her pants and a blanket draped around her shoulders like a cape. He felt a brief flash of disappointment that he could no longer admire her naked form, but he supposed her response was reasonable given that he could have just dashed off to face a human intruder.

To assuage her concern, he explained, "It was only a rat."

Her eyes widened and she noticeably looked towards the floor. "Hopefully there aren't any more."

He sighed and returned the poker to the side of the fireplace. Noticing the flames had begun to diminish, he tossed another log on. "Unfortunately, you need to get used to them or at least tolerate them at the front. The worst part was when they'd nibble at you as you tried to sleep."

She made a sound of disgust and then, after a beat, asked. "Do you want to put on your pants?"

He looked down at himself, having forgotten he was naked. Turning back towards the bed, he saw she held his pants in her outstretched hand, so he took them. As he stepped one leg in, he asked, "Was I making you uncomfortable?"

"N-no," she said, though her tone was not fully confident. "I'm just not used to nudity."

He smiled wryly. "Then don't join the army."

"I wasn't planning to."

They shared a smile before he could no longer resist the urge and leaned down to kiss her. He curled one leg under him as he sat on the edge of the mattress beside her and asked, "Are you feeling well? That is…have your feelings changed now that we've…put our pants back on." More than anything in the world he did not want her to regret their actions, but he also needed to discern her comfort level less he inadvertently make her feel more uncomfortable if he continued to kiss and touch her when she was no longer certain it was what she wanted.

Thankfully, her tone was confident when she said, "No. Have yours?"

"Not at all. In fact—"

His words were interrupted by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to make the bed rattle beneath them.

"Oh dear." She sighed, turning so she could look out the small window by the bed. I suppose the storm isn't stopping any time soon."

"No, I don't think so." He glanced down at his watch and saw that it was after five, which made him frown as it solidified the fact that they would not make it back to the hospital that day. "Even if it wasn't raining, we are barely an hour away from sunset. I don't think it would be wise for us to try and find our way back to the hospital before morning."

Her head whipped back towards him with her brow raised in surprise. "You mean we'll spend the night here?"

"Yes, but don't worry. You can have the bed and I'll sleep in one of these chairs." Their situation was unusual and the last thing he wanted was for her to be more uncomfortable. It was frustrating enough that their clothing was soaked, though perhaps that predicament would be remedied before morning.

Shelagh looked down at the mattress on which they sat for a moment before sitting upright a bit taller and saying, "I would be happy to share the bed with you. If—if you are comfortable," she added tentatively.

Share the bed, he pondered. He'd never shared a bed with a woman—not all night, anyway. But the thought of curling up beside her, feeling the warmth of her, and seeing her face first thing when he awoke... That seemed an idyllic alternative to the bullet to the head he'd nearly experienced.

"I'll share the bed with you, but it's far too early to actually sleep. Shall we pretend we're on the balcony for a while?"

She grinned. "Yes, please. What should we talk about?"

He smiled a bit wolfishly as he stretched out beside her, propping himself up on his elbow. "Oh, I don't know. Did you do anything interesting today?"

She considered for a moment before saying, "I took a walk in the rain."

He laughed. "What a coincidence—so did I!"

They talked for hours, sprawled out on the bed in a variety of positions sitting up or half lying down, but somehow always touching each other. Lazily playing with each other's fingers, with him holding her feet in his lap or her tracing the edge of his shins with a finger. Though in many ways it was like the nights they spent on the balcony, the addition of physical touch increased the intimacy of it, and made it, in his opinion, quite perfect.

He stepped out at one point to relieve his bladder and, when he returned to the bedroom, he found her checking on their drying clothes. As it was completely dark outside and the fire had begun to die down, he could see barely more than the silhouette of her moving in front of the backdrop of flickering embers. His breath caught in his throat, and it felt as though a puzzle piece inside of his heart clicked into place.

This woman was his future. He would marry her and start a family with her. No question existed in his mind about it.

His heart clenched from the strength of the notion, and he absentmindedly rubbed his fingers over his sternum as he observed her rotating their clothes on the chairs to allow for better drying. To Patrick, marriage had always been more of a distant concept. He wanted to get married someday but that day was so far in the future it hardly mattered. He always imagined that when he would decide upon a woman to marry, that decision would be born of much planning and reflection. After all, it was a life-long decision, and he didn't want to make the wrong one! He imagined that he would date a woman for several months and think about her as his lifetime partner on several occasions to let the decision ruminate before ultimately coming to the conclusion—but this? This was a decision made in a shorter span of time than a heartbeat. It required no considerations, no planning, and no further thought; it simply was.

They belonged together. Not because she had saved his life for a third time that day. Not because she had broken her vows by making love to him. Not because she was one of the only women he'd spoken to for over two years, but because of her—Shelagh. Her heart, her mind. All of her. He wanted late night chats that alternated between fits of giggles and serious discussions. He wanted to feel the peace that came with holding her in his arms and the electricity that came from her kiss. He loved her more than he thought he could love anyone, and he wasn't going to let her go.

Letting those emotions settle into his heart, he stepped forward, gently turned her around and kissed her sweetly. "Let's go to bed."

Her right arm fell to his waist while she gestured behind her with her left. "We should put the fire out overnight so no one can see inside. It could get chilly, but it will be safer."

He smiled, skimming his hands down her back to draw her in closer to him. "Don't worry about getting cold; I'll keep you warm."